


dirty money

by arcanawildcard, clairelutra (exosolarmoon)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Being Walked In On, Creampie, Established Relationship, F/M, Glove Kink, Post-Coital Cuddling, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in Enemy Territory, sex on a GIANT PILE OF DIRTY MONEY, smut and humor, the sexual tension was resolved but that only made it worse smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanawildcard/pseuds/arcanawildcard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: Kink meme prompt:During the Kaneshiro palace, Joker and Panther get separated from the team. Obviously, this is enemy territory and they definitely totally need to get back to the team. Total dedication.... Just that theyjuststarted dating and hormones are running high, and all the adrenaline from a caper is making things worse, and well, fucking on a giant pile of stolen moneyduring a heistis just about the most Phantom Thiefiest way you can possibly have sex, and it's not like you just see those lying around every day. The team won't miss them for abit,right?Bonus points if it's totally Ann's idea, because aggressive Ann is best Ann.





	dirty money

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted to the personakinkmeme](https://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/993.html?thread=590817)

By their third trip to Kaneshiro's Palace, Ann had more or less gotten used to the giant piles of dirty money. Sure, the inside of this bastard's head was pretty despicable from start to finish and the money was at the core of it all, but such was the Phantom Thief life.

But, you know. _Giant piles of money._

A better target for her gaze than Joker's broad, leather-clad shoulders and that high collar that hid his nape from view, because whenever she looked at them for too long, she started thinking about that old(ish) fantasy of getting it on with Joker in full Phantom Thief regalia.

Which had always been distracting, but now that they were, you know, _together_ (together!!), that distraction had gotten much, much worse.

Now she didn't have to imagine what it felt like to have his hands and mouth on her, his— his— _thing_ inside her (cock, cock, his cock, she _would_ get used to using that word, she _would_ —Akira's cock, Joker's cock... even in her head, 'cock' no longer sounded like a word), didn't have to imagine what his face looked like when she gasped his name (shaky and smug and _awed_ ) or the noise he made when she shimmied her hips just right ( _way_ hotter than porn), didn't have to imagine his fingers digging into her ass or his tongue tracing her nipples as he sucked on her breasts...

And now she didn't have to dream about him doing things like that to her. Now all she had to do was _ask_ and she'd receive.

Knowing _that_ was definitely what got her the worst.

Back to the matter at hand, Ann had a problem.

The problem was this: she'd been getting used to the giant piles of dirty money.

Second problem: giant piles of dirty money were actually _not_ one of the most unsexy things in the world, once you adjusted to the whole 'brutally extorted and/or stolen from innocents' part.

Third problem: she and Joker had gotten separated from the rest of the group, which meant that she was alone with her _boyfriend_ (who was wearing a cool coat and stupid-attractive gloves and that mouth-watering cockiness that always took him over in the middle of a heist) and—

And a giant pile of not-as-unsexy-as-it-should-be dirty money.

Like, imagine you were so rich and powerful that you could literally leave a giant pile of money (gained under incredibly dubious circumstances) just _lying around._

Now imagine that all that money was actually someone else's, and that you were breaking a bunch of rules by being in there with the money at all, and were definitely being hunted down for it.

 _Now_ imagine that they're totally right to hunt you down, because you were there to bring down the asshole that managed all this, ripping the rug out from under his feet and taking him down like a set of bowling pins with a perfect strike, and were BAMF enough to be well on your way to managing it.

That was kiiiiind of a power trip—one with that deliciously naughty thrill of danger and misbehavior—yeah? Maybe not sexy _in itself,_ but with the right company...

(Cockiness looked _so good_ on him.)

All this to say that she was semi-guiltily staring at a mountain of currency and trying to pretend her belly wasn't tingling hardcore at the thought of her boyfriend (Akira! Joker! _Hers!_ ) sexing her senseless on top of it, while Mr. Cocky-and-No-Longer-Untouchable himself was trying to contact their friends like the good responsible leader-guy he was.

He noticed her staring, of course.

"...We can't take any of it with us, you know," he said, the timbre of his voice stroking down her spine as he put his phone back in his pocket.

The confirmation he couldn't read minds was somewhat comforting.

"I know," she said, shifting uncomfortably. She tangled her fingers behind her back and arched her back a little—disappointed when he didn't look. "Just... you know..."

He waited.

"Uh-mm," she faltered, then latched onto, "So! Did you get a hold of anyone?"

"No," he said, glancing sideways at her. "Maybe they got distracted by the money."

Urk.

"I mean... It's just kinda, like, _there,_ you know?" she said defensively, glancing back at that big... tall... possibly-comfortable mountain of _cash._ Just waiting for a couple of Phantom Thieves to get down and roll in it. Sexily.

He looked at it speculatively. "Might not be."

...That was a good point. They were in the _Meta_ verse, after all.

She wandered over to it and crouched, muttering, _poke poke,_ to herself as she reached out and pressed a finger into the pile a couple of times. It held up like a real pile of paper would.

"It's here," she confirmed, dusting imaginary dust off her thighs as she stood. Then... kept staring it, because the fantasy of him pushing her down and taking advantage of her conveniently placed zippers and putting those gloves all over her _would not leave her head._

Mnngh.

(The tingles were spreading to her breasts and thighs now too, tugging at her nipples and throbbing in time with her heavy heartbeat, and she could _definitely_ feel herself flushing under the mask. She desperately needed a distraction... or satisfaction.

Satisfaction would work too.)

(Unbidden, her mind presented her with the image of Joker standing guard while she sprawled out here and rubbed one out—which... had its own appeal. She might want _him_ most of all, but she wasn't feeling particularly picky right now.)

...And, you know.

All she really _did_ have to do was ask...

She glanced at Joker out of the corner of her eye.

"Spit it out," he said, as dry as she was _not,_ folding his arms over his chest.

She gnawed on her lip for a few more seconds, glancing between him and the pile a few more times as she weighed the costs and benefits.

Costs: the effort it would take to get the words out of her mouth, the risk of discovery by friends or foes or both, lost time...

Benefits: sex with Joker (Akira! Her boyfriend! _Ann's!_ ) on a _giant pile of money._

The answer was a no-brainer.

"Wanna... you know." She twisted her fingers behind her back again, chewed on the words, and then managed, "...F-fuck on it?"

His head snapped in her direction so fast she felt a little bad for his neck.

Shifting her weight from side to side with the most enticing swing of her hips she could manage, her cheeks burning, her pulse thrumming, she drew out, "I mean... they won't miss us for a _little bit,_ will they?"

He stared at her, wide-eyed, then his eyes flitted over to the pile, then back to her.

She flashed him her most winning smile.

* * *

Strangely, fucking on top of a giant pile of money hadn't even occurred to Akira.

Or, at least, it hadn't stuck out as any more available any other relatively convenient surface, which... He'd spent the past two weeks batting away intrusive fantasies about getting down and dirty with Ann on _every single surface he looked at,_ so.

And, god, it had only gotten a hundred times worse the second they stepped into the Metaverse. That heated buzz of adrenaline met the unavoidable knowledge that that central zipper on her suit went _all the way down_ (or, if not all the way, then definitely far _enough_ ) met the _palpable_ memory of her sweat and slick in his mouth and—

Look. He'd managed to avoid looking at her too much, and had only entirely forgotten where they were _twice_ this far into the Palace (once because she'd murmured his name a little too sweet and a little too close, and once because she'd pressed all those soft curves against his back to peek into a treasure chest with him), and had managed to beat back _most_ of the fantasies and—he was doing _well,_ okay?

He was sixteen. She'd made him feel weak at the knees even before he'd learned what it was like to literally _feel_ her orgasm. That was absolutely the most skintight thing he'd seen _anyone_ in, and it _very decoratively_ told him _exactly_ how he could take it off.

He was doing _well._

Maybe even a little _too_ well. It hadn't even crossed his mind that fucking on a giant pile of money in a Palace in the middle of a heist might be a turn-on for her, despite wondering endlessly about what her turn-ons might be for the... two months or so he'd known her.

(Shit, had it really been that long? Had it _only_ been that long?)

An oversight. A _vast_ oversight, apparently, because the second he got that damn zipper open (oh _hell,_ it really _did_ go all the way back) and a hand between her legs, she keened so loud he clamped his other hand over her mouth in a panic.

And, _oh,_ wasn't that a sight.

Blue eyes hazy and helpless and needy, the line of contrast between scarlet fabric and blush-flushed cheeks, yen bills crumpled in her hands and the strip of flawless pale skin running from throat to cleft revealing more and more with every pant and squirm, the first two fingers of his right hand buried _inside her,_ unnatural red delving into natural red shiny-wet folds with liquid seeping into the cloth around his knuckles—

Oh. Oops. Accidentally wiping _away_ her slick hadn't even crossed his mind until that moment.

He removed his fingers (to a muffled, mewling, pleading whine that made everything in him _lurch_ ) and found his gloves soaked clean through, wet and cooling fast and absolutely _coated_ in yet _more slick._

Some important part of his internal circuitry burst and died in a hiss of smoke.

He shoved those two fingers into his mouth, forcing himself to keep breathing as he sucked the moisture out of the fabric. The taste of clean savory-tang _zapped_ through his system—scalp to goosebumps to groin.

(He hadn't been too sure about the whole eating out thing until he'd tried it, but she tasted like _sex_ on some deep, instinctual level and it got him feeling downright frantic, a ravenous mess of yes-yes-yes with a side of _oh god please._ )

Pulling the glove off with his teeth netted another little whine from Panther ( _gnkfuck_ ) and yanked his attention to the fact that she really had soaked his gloves through to the skin, air colder and sharper on those two fingers than the rest of his hand, sensitive now that it was deprived of its armor.

It made tracing her folds, circling her clit, and sliding his now-bare fingers into her entrance again a whole new experience—one that had him letting go of her mouth so he could support himself, one that had her arching and squirming and twitching as his fingers moved, and—

He _had_ wiped the slick out of her.

It only took about five careful strokes to get it back.

It coated her walls and his hands as he rocked the heel of his palm against her clit and her hips chased him with a little gasp of _Joker!_ and then again, _louder,_ and—

Look. There really _wasn't_ a rational response to that. There just _wasn't._

Of course, when he mindlessly lurched for her, the downsides to getting it on on a large pile of paper bills made itself known: he slipped.

He went down in a distinctly unsexy and mildly painful way—which _didn't_ involve any bleeding noses or gums, thank god—that killed the mood enough for him to pick up a few of his scattered brain cells.

Not _many,_ especially not with her breathless giggles in his ear and her hands going for his clothing, but enough that together they managed to get his coat off and laid out on the slope, and then Panther laid in _it_ with him kneeling over her in just his dress shirt and waistcoat, now with enough traction to prevent a repeat.

And then he lost them again, because Panther's suit had slipped off her chest for real now and her eyes were sparkling and her grin was bright and _adoring_ and _mgnfgnck_ he was never, ever, ever going to get used to her looking at him like that. Ever.

She fumbled with his pants, struggling with the buttons while he ducked down to taste that smile, or maybe try to kiss it off her face, or maybe just because his heart was all strung out and it'd been too long since their last kiss.

And then she got them open and impatiently tugged him onto her by the waistband and—oh. He was commando. He hadn't known that.

(Clothing in the Metaverse was just plain weird. Had he been wearing anything under the trousers before Panther had made it clear she wanted his dick? He'd probably never know now.)

The pooling heat and pressure in his groin were reaching all new heights, crackling down his spine in time with the sweet slip-slide of lips on lips—until he had to break away to gasp because she'd gotten a hold of his erection and was now squeezing it gently, folding her legs over his hips and urging him down, and—

He stuffed his glove in her mouth, the one he'd taken off in favor of touching her (she was always loud, which was about five times as _hot_ as it was impractical, and it was pretty damn impractical), then let her guide the head of his cock to her slit and pushed _in._

Her shuddering _noise_ muffled by the fabric and her body gripping him so _hot-wet-tight-tight- **tight** -slick_ he was going to _die,_ never mind coming too fast, his heart was just going to up and give out before he even managed _that_ —

He neither died nor came before he'd adjusted to the sensation as much as he _could,_ which probably qualified as a minor miracle or feat of self control, or maybe both.

It was awkward to rock back on his heels but _fuck_ it was worth it, worth it to spread his knees as far as he dared and watch her arch with him, velvet vice fluttering and squeezing around his cock and her breasts shifting with the movement, to see that red vinyl shell gape open and reveal the girl underneath, all the more enticing for the bed of stolen cash and the buffer of his coat, all the more enticing to how perfectly the zipper _fit_ —

All the more enticing for the way her breasts bounced when he snapped his hips, the way she chased him out-of-sync; all the more enticing for the way he could _touch her_ now; the way she keened and shuddered and _clenched_ when he drew his gloved hand down the whole length of her torso and back up again; the way her body felt to that touch, all squish and sleek and flesh and blood, her pulse pounding all over at an erratic pace discordantly off-beat from his own; the soft weight of one of those breasts in his palm and the goosebumps that raised when he thumbed her nipple.

All the more enticing for the way every one of his senses had gone on high alert the second she wasn't filling them to the brim, danger simmering livewire-electric in his gut and his ears straining for the slightest noise that wasn't her or the hum of the building.

Somehow, he only heard-felt-saw her more.

He was about ninety-percent sure that he was going to finish before she even got close, but apparently he'd underestimated how much this was _getting_ to her, because it only took a minute or two of circling her clit with his bare hand and stroking her body with his gloved one before she was whimpering through the cloth and _shuddering_ inside and out.

She went absolutely still for one, two, three pounding heartbeats, and then all that tension in her _snapped,_ convulsively squeezing his cock so tight he _exploded,_ hips helplessly chasing the mind-melting pleasure as her choked, muted, _ah-ah-ah-!_ rang through his head.

The release was almost, _almost_ too much to handle, her orgasm milking his until he was wrung out and dry, the white-static dopamine rush painting the world over in a haze.

He eased out when her twitching aftershocks started to get uncomfortable, replacing his dick with clumsy fingers when she made a thin noise of protest, then collapsed half on top of her, feeling deliciously _used_ from head to toe and elbow slipping in yen.

He kissed her forehead through the fog to a sweet, trilling purr and a series of fumbling attempts at reciprocation until she finally snaked her arms around his neck and caught his mouth.

He wasn't sure how long they lost to the afterglow, just that it was so drenched in dreamy affection his heart would probably never recover, chasing kisses with nuzzles with petting with still more kisses...

That, and it was long enough that her aftershocks trailed off, leaving the slurry of his cum and her slick leaking out between his fingers, and...

Long enough for the rest of the team to find them.

Oops.

"Joker! Panther!" Queen shouted in the distance, only seconds before her running footsteps could be heard. Vaulting to the floor, she staggered up and demanded, "Are you alri-..." Mouth open, mouth shut. "...-ght?"

Panther rolled into him, slotting his thigh between both of hers to hide the scene of the crime, so to speak, grinning guiltily into his throat as she tucked him back into his trousers and buttoned them again.

"I'd say we're doing fine," Akira reassured Queen, his voice coming out in a rumbling, satisfied purr. He didn't bother to try to hide the threads of viscous fluids clinging to his fingers as he reached for the glove Panther had spat out beside her.

Queen made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, flushing almost cherry, and whipped around on her heel.

...She'd never walked in on anyone before, had she.

Akira would feel guilty about the show... later. Much, much, much later. Right now, this was too much fun.

He wiped the slick off his fingers, then handed the glove to Panther, who gave it a confused pout until he nodded in the general direction of the mess between her thighs, and her mouth fell into a little 'o' of understanding.

"A-a-a-anyway!" said Queen, strangled and squeaky, back ramrod straight and fists clenched at her sides. "We. Um. F-f-f-found the next safe room, so. We'll. Um! H-head... there?"

"Sounds good," Akira agreed, and Panther rasped an, "Uh-huh!" as she mopped up her own mess with the glove ( _his_ glove, that he wore, wore _regularly_ —).

"You were... um..." Queen started weakly, "I-I mean, were you...?"

"Were we...?" he prompted, carefully deadpan.

 _"Nothing!_ N-nothing... I... um... was... just..."

"Everything okay there, Queen?" Ryuji hollered from somewhere above and behind. "Did you find them?"

"Yes!" Queen squeaked, then cleared her throat and shouted, still audibly flustered, "Y-yes! I found them. They're... they're okay!"

"Make that a little _better_ than okay?" Panther suggested in an undertone, gratifyingly rough around the edges.

Queen _meeped._

Akira swallowed a very smug snicker.

Panther was rolling over, off his coat, letting him take it back and put it on as she zipped her suit back up and bit down on the corner of her twitching mouth. When she was done, she offered him the ruined glove back.

He was almost tempted to leave her with it, but no—he'd need it eventually, even if he couldn't wear it now. He took it back, absently squishing their collaborative mess into the middle and sliding it into his pocket like a prize to be coveted as he stood. Maybe it was.

"Alright, we're ready," he called over to Queen, who still had her back turned.

She nodded sharply and marched ahead like a tin soldier, ears as red as her face, and Akira glanced at Panther, who was a different kind of flushed, glowing and sated and bright-eyed and...

...Akira decided that maybe he'd feel guilty at some point in the _next_ life.


End file.
